Sparks and shadows
by NivalVixen2
Summary: COMPLETE! Stiles has to figure out a way to maintain a balance between the spark and darkness inside of him. (Luckily, Derek is there to help.) Warning: Scott is not a nice character in this fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter One

...

There's a darkness in Stiles - he thought he'd be able to handle the darkness that Deaton had warned them about, but after the nogitsune, he's not sure of much anymore. He can't handle it when his friends - his pack - leave him behind to fight the latest monster because they don't know if they can trust him yet. (Peter's allowed to go with them, and if that isn't the biggest kick in the guts, then Stiles doesn't know what is.) He can't handle being left behind, so Stiles follows them. Probably not his smartest idea to date, but he can't sit around while they're putting their lives in danger. Not again.

He arrives in time to see the crux of the fighting, and finds the latest monster wrapped around Derek so that he can't attack and is slowly choking him. The others surround them, but all of them are screaming in pain. Stiles can't see what's making them do that, but he vaguely remembers them mentioning something about this monster being similar to the Kanima's paralytic toxin. He covers his mouth with his large red handkerchief in case it's an airborne toxin, and runs into the warehouse with his bat swinging. Stiles imagines that the bat will hit the creature and make a difference, trying to work with his spark (something he had before the nogitsune and the darkness, and that's something he needs right now), and even though he's the one telling himself it will work, Stiles is still surprised as fuck when it actually does. The bat connects with the back of the creature's head and it falls away from Derek, hissing in pain. Stiles rolls away from the thing's tail, his body working smoother than it used to, and the tail hits the ground instead of his leg.

The creature turns around to attack Stiles, but then Derek's standing in front of him growling and his eyes glowing blue, his fangs and claws extended. Stiles stands up and moves beside him, briefly taking in the bruises and cuts that have yet to heal on Derek's body. Spark or not, this creature's more lethal than Stiles and Derek can handle on their own, and Stiles knows that to win, there's only one thing he can to do. Hopefully he'll be able to come back from this, he thinks to himself, and Stiles kind of blacks out as he lets the darkness inside take over him completely.

When Stiles comes to again, it's to find Derek holding him back, arms wrapped around him firmly and telling him it's over now. His hands are wet and slippery with blood, and Stiles struggles to breathe properly, even though he realises it's not his own or Derek's blood. He slumps against Derek's hold, gasping and his lungs burning, his eyes squeezed shut so he won't have to see what he's done. He still can't breathe, and he faints in Derek's embrace.

The next time Stiles opens his eyes, a few minutes have passed and this time, Derek's the one kneeling over him, slapping his face gently. Stiles gasps for air and sits up abruptly, his eyes wide and chest heaving.

"Did I kill it?" he asked quietly, clutching to Derek's ruined Henley tightly.

"Yeah, Stiles, you killed it," Derek replied, glancing over to what little was left of the creature.

Even Peter was shocked by what Stiles had done, and for a psychopath, that was definitely saying something.

"I didn't kill anyone else, did I?" Stiles asked, his heartbeat frantic and racing.

"No, just the monster. Everyone else is fine. We're alive, thanks to you," Derek replied, rubbing his back in gentle circles.

He stays there with Stiles, rubbing his back and calming him. Derek refuses to move until the globs of organs, blood, entrails, and skin that were scattered through the warehouse were disposed of by the rest of the pack. He also refuses to let Stiles to see any of it, and Stiles doesn't protest, staying in Derek's embrace until Derek stands and tugs Stiles to his feet. As far as Derek is concerned, Stiles had saved them all, and that's all there is to it.

...

Stiles knows that he's probably made it worse. Scott refuses to even look at him anymore - at least before he looked at him, warily though it was - and Lydia flinches when he's close. He stays home a lot, refusing to even go to pack meetings, and no one seems to miss him. His father's working overtime, what with the Oni having killed more than four police officers in one night (on top of the deaths caused by Matt controlling the Kanima, Stiles knows how short staffed they are at the station and doesn't blame his father for the extra work; it's his fault anyway), and there are some nights when the Sheriff doesn't come home at all. Stiles tells himself that he hasn't seen his father because of the late nights and early mornings, and tries not to listen to the voice in his head saying that his own father's avoiding him. (It sounds like the nogitsune, and Stiles knows that's a bad thing, but that doesn't seem to stop the voice.)

Two weeks pass, and it's like the world's fading around him. In that time, he's only seen his father four times, despite the new police officer's they've hired at the station; he only sees Scott and Lydia in class or at lacrosse (he's back on the bench); Isaac looks at him like he doesn't know whether to run away or scream; Danny apparently knows about werewolves but refuses to talk; and Stiles doesn't know Kira well enough to try to talk to her (he doubts she'll want to talk to him anyway, since he's the one that tried to have her killed). Then the summer holidays start and his contact with the outside world reduces to nil pretty damn fast. Scott's off with Kira most of the time, Danny and Lydia go to visit Jackson in London, Peter's disappeared for whatever reason, Isaac buddies up to Chris Argent and they go on a bonding hunting trip to France or something, and it's three full weeks before anyone takes it upon themselves to reply to any of Stiles' messages and emails (it's Scott responding with 'k' to a very lengthy text Stiles had sent; Scott knows how much he hates one letter texts, damn him!).

It's such a clusterfuck of everything that Stiles decides to leave for good, for everyone's sake. He starts packing a bag, shoving random shirts and pants in, scooping socks and underwear straight into the duffel bag. He'll go to the bank ATM, withdraw all of his cash, fill Roscoe's tank to the brim, and just leave. No one will notice, no one will care, and no one will come looking for him. They'll all continue with their lives, just as they should have before he fucked them up (before he killed one of them; before he killed someone again), and that's all there is to it.

He's in the kitchen, duffel bag sitting on the counter as he decides what to take with him (the Pop Tarts, obviously, or his dad will eat them and that's not good for his heart; Stiles wonders if the bacon will survive the trip in his Jeep, and decides to eat it before he leaves instead), when there's a knock at the front door. He frowns as he opens the door, wondering who the hell's knocking, since Scott's usually the only one to visit him and he never knocks.

"Derek?"

"Stiles," he replied easily. "Mind if I come in?"

"Uh, sure," Stiles muttered, stepping back. "What's wrong? Is there another creature? Lydia's still got the Bestiary, and she's over in London..."

"Nothing's wrong, Stiles. I wanted to see how you were doing," Derek said, glancing into the kitchen and stopping short, looking back over his shoulder to frown at Stiles. "Planning on taking a road trip?"

"Yeah, a permanent one," Stiles muttered, not bothering to try and lie to the werewolf.

"Why?"

Stiles' eyes widened in disbelief. "Why?! Why? How about because my best friend won't even look at me? My dad's spent so much time at the station that I can't pretend that he's not terrified of me anymore. My friends - my pack - left me behind to go get themselves killed because they can't trust me, and I don't blame them because I can't even trust myself! I can't sleep because I have nothing but nightmares. I can't do anything right, even when I try to save people, and I can't take this anymore. I'm leaving, and there's nothing you can say to stop me."

Derek listens calmly as he rants, and eventually just nods. "All right, if that's what you want to do... You're not really planning on taking your Jeep, are you?"

"Yes," Stiles said, surprised that he wasn't trying to stop him.

Derek rolled his eyes. "You'll never get to the next town in that thing. Where are you heading? I'll drive you."

"What? You're not going to stop me?" Stiles asked.

"No. You're an adult now, Stiles, and if you want to leave Beacon Hills, you can do that. Trust me, I know what it feels like to have to leave a place you grew up in, and a need to escape everything. If you need to leave, then you need to leave. Now, do you have your pillow?" Derek asked.

Stiles frowns, expecting the question to be condescending, but he can't hear any malice or a single taunt in Derek's tone. "No, I was going to get it last, along with my sleeping bag."

"All right. When do you plan on leaving?" Derek asked.

"Uh, after breakfast, I guess. Get an early start."

Derek nodded. "Get started on breakfast then, I'll go get my car."

"You mean you ran all the way here?" Stiles called to Derek's retreating form, not surprised when he didn't receive a reply.

Derek returns about fifteen minutes later, Stiles easily recognising the sound of his Camaro pulling into the driveway smoothly. He plates up the bacon and toast, figuring he can offer breakfast since Derek's been surprisingly good natured about all of this.

"Do you want some juice with your food?" he called over his shoulder as the front door opened, his head stuck in the fridge as he tried to decide what else needed to be eaten before his departure.

"Sure," Derek answered, echoed by a heavy clunk on the kitchen counter that made Stiles look up quickly.

He frowned at the sight of a big black duffel bag sitting on the counter. "What's that?"

"My bag."

"Your bag? What do you have a bag for?" Stiles asked, his frown deepening.

"I'm going with you," Derek replied simply.

"What? Why?"

"Beacon Hills already has an Alpha to protect it, and a wolf should always protect their anchor."

"Anchor?" Stiles echoed, surprised. Since when?

He doesn't voice the last part out loud, but Derek must recognise the question on his face, because he answered a moment later. "Since I talked to my mother. I didn't have as much anger left as I thought I would, and I ... I trust you," Derek admitted, shrugging.

Stiles snorts in disbelief at that. "No one trusts me right now; not even I trust me. Especially not after what happened at the warehouse..."

"You mean you saving all of us from being killed?" Derek pointed out firmly, refusing to let Stiles continue. "I trust you, Stiles. I watched you in the warehouse, and even when you were at your worst - " here, an expression passes Derek's face that Stiles has never seen before and couldn't hope to analyse " - you still kept your head and didn't go near any of us. You made sure that whatever you became was only focused on the specific threat, and didn't even try to hurt Scott when he went Alpha on you. I mean, you took a swipe at him, but it was to keep him back more than anything. You could've destroyed all of us, Stiles, but you didn't."

Stiles laughed a little nervously. "Great, I could kill an entire pack of werewolves. That's just great to hear."

"You're not listening, Stiles. I said that you could have, and I specifically added that you did not hurt or harm any of us. We're your pack, and you wouldn't hurt us knowingly - not when you're the one in control," Derek said firmly, as if he actually believed every word.

Stiles looked at Derek for a moment, the silence stretching between them. "I... I don't even know if Iwas the one in control there," he admitted out loud for the first time, even to himself. "I don't remember a thing, just like when it was the nogitsune. What if there's still a piece of it inside of me?"

"There isn't; I'd be able to smell it on you. What happened in the warehouse wasn't exactly you, but it wasn't the nogitsune either. It felt more like... a different version of you, if that makes sense?"

"Not really, but I suppose it's better than an evil demonic fox hellbent on chaos and killing everyone I love," Stiles muttered, rubbing his hand over his face as he laughed hollowly.

"Do you want to try training with it? You can get better connected with whatever it is inside of you, and it should give you a better semblance of control. I could help you; if you'd like my help, that is?" Derek added quickly.

Stiles nodded before he really processed the question itself. Derek seemed pleased with his answer, and Stiles started on his breakfast before it could get cold. As soon as they'd finished eating, Derek guided Stiles out through to the backyard before he could change his mind.

"We can practice in the forest until I've found somewhere more suitable."

From there, Derek commandeered Stiles' attention until they were in a clearing in the forest and he doubted he'd be able to make his way back without needing Derek's help.

"Now, do you think you can do what you did at the warehouse again?" Derek asked, standing a metre away from Stiles and watching him.

"Uh, I don't know. It was a kind of a spur of the moment thing, y'know? I don't think..."

"Lie," Derek muttered. "Let's try that again, Stiles."

Stiles tugged on the sleeve of his plaid shirt, scuffing his shoe at a clump of grass. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so much a spur of the moment thing as he'd've liked it to be. Maybe he'd been trying to ignore this and didn't trust himself with it - whatever it was. Maybe he'd hoped that by ignoring it, it would go away and let him live a normal life again. But Derek didn't look like he cared about any of that, and besides, he said he trusted Stiles. He needed someone to trust him again, even if that someone wasn't himself right now.

"Okay, get ready for it," Stiles muttered.

He closed his eyes, metaphorically felt down for the darkness wrapped around his heart, and then ... blacked out.

Stiles came to, Derek straddling his legs and barely holding his arms down. He went still immediately, letting out a yelp of surprise and shock, and then that yelp turned into a low groan of pain because his whole body ached.

"What-what happened?" he asked, licking his dry lips.

"We trained for a good hour or so. You fight dirty, Stiles," Derek replied simply, grinning as he stood and brushed his jeans off.

"I do?" Stiles asked, frowning.

"Yes. Don't worry, you'll remember more with time; your body's just getting used to the switch right now. It's the same with wolves," he added, reassuring Stiles before he really had a chance to freak out completely. "Sometimes they'll lose hours or days at a time because they don't know how to share the same space with another creature."

"Another creature? What is it? It's not another fox, is it?" he asked, his heart sinking.

"No, not a fox. It's... It's hard to explain; it's kind of like a wolfed up version of you. It's still you, bad jokes included, but you're bloodthirsty, and you've got claws. Sharp ones, too," Derek muttered, looking down at the tears in his henley.

Stiles' eyes widened and stopped Derek quickly, a hand on his arm. He lined up his fingers with the five tears on Derek's shirt, his heart beating erratically when they fit perfectly.

"I did that?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Yes, you did. I think it's part of you being a spark; you seem to think of something and it just happens. The claws changed into talons at one point. I think they did, at least; it was difficult to tell when you were trying to tear my intestines out as a joke."

"A... I... what?"

"A joke. You know: I tear your throat out, you tear my intestines out... It was probably funnier at the time," Derek admitted, scratching the back of his head.

"Sounds hilarious," Stiles deadpanned.

Derek just grins slightly and they continue back to the Stilinski residence in silence. Stiles' body hurts too much to even think about leaving Beacon Hills today - he needs a shower, a first aid kit, and about twenty solid hours of sleep. Preferably in that order. Derek doesn't bother leaving, even though Stiles expects him to leave the moment they finished training. He is surprised to find that Derek is still in his room after he finishes his shower, and is extremely grateful for the fact when Derek helpshim apply various creams, salves, and bandaids to the scratches he'd received (even though Derek rolled his eyes at the Batman bandaids, Stiles knew he was just teasing).

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles murmured with a yawn, the pain medication making him sleepy. "Stay until I fall asleep?" he asked, his eyes already closing.

"All right, Stiles," Derek replied quietly.

Stiles snuggles up to the blanket that's tucked around his body a moment later, and falls asleep easily for the first time in months.

...

End of the first chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter Two

...

Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night to find Derek pressed up against his back, an arm wrapped around his waist. He can tell that Derek is already awake, can practically hear him thinking, but Stiles just rolls his eyes, holds onto Derek's arm tighter and goes back to sleep. Slowly, Derek relaxes and goes to sleep as well, his body tucked around Stiles firmly.

When Stiles wakes up again later that day, he can hear his father talking to someone in the kitchen. Derek's no longer in the bed, his side cool enough to make Stiles think he left half an hour ago or so. He sits up in bed slowly, trying to figure out why he feels so _weird_. It's nothing to do with Derek, but there's a niggling at the back of his head like he knows there's something else wrong. Shoving the blankets off his body, Stiles leaves his room cautiously after checking how many fingers he has (ten, ten is a good number, a safe number, and he knows that he's awake), and makes his way down to the kitchen.

"Hey, kid. You woke up without having a nightmare. That's a good thing, right?" John asked, smiling briefly when Stiles frowns instead.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it's good," he replied uncertainly.

It's the first time since the nogitsune that he's woken up naturally, without a nightmare forcing him out of his sleep, and _that_ explains the weirdness. It's an odd feeling on his skin.

"It is a good thing," Derek said firmly. "You're starting to accept the spark inside of you, and it's helping you heal. It won't be an overnight fix, and it won't heal all of the darkness, but it should go towards lessening it so it's a dull ache rather than constant pain."

"I wish you'd told me that you were training with Derek, son. I would've made sure not to draw my gun on him when I came home early," John said, chuckling softly.

"Yeah, right. Sorry, Dad," Stiles replied. "I'm still really tired, I might go back to bed," he added, a bone-deep weariness settling in.

"All right, I'll cook dinner and leave something in the fridge for you; eat it when you want. I've got another morning shift tomorrow, so I won't be here when you wake up. Sorry, kid."

"It's all right, Dad," he replied, not looking at Derek because they both knew that he was lying.

Stiles hugs his father briefly, then does the same to Derek just _because_ , then heads upstairs again. He shuts his bedroom door, climbs into bed, and shuts his eyes to sleep. Derek climbs into his room less than fifteen minutes later, and Stiles watches as he takes off his shoes and jacket silently. Derek slips into the bed beside him, wraps an arm around his body loosely, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and gratitude as he falls asleep again.

...

The Sheriff is still home the next time Stiles wakes up. He knows this because he wakes up screaming and can hear his Dad running up the stairs. Stiles sees a blur of black, and belatedly realises that Derek is still in his room, but he can't say or do anything because he's still screaming and the nightmare's still playing on his mind, the darkness tugging at his sanity until he's choking and can't breathe. Then his Dad's arms are wrapped around him, holding him down as he tries to soothe and calm him again, and Stiles has to force himself to breathe in time with his Dad's words. The Sheriff holds him down and tells him that it will all be all right. Stiles doesn't have to be a werewolf to know that he's lying.

He calms down slowly, despite his efforts to get himself under control faster because Derek is still standing in his freaking closet and can't come out while his dad is still in the room (not without some serious questions that Stiles is seriously not ready to answer). His dad finally lets go of him after he's sure that Stiles will be okay, giving his shoulder an awkward pat before he leaves the room again.

Stiles closes his eyes as his bedroom door shuts, and tries to fight the urge to cry. His dad never used to leave the room after he had a nightmare; he once even skipped a day of work to stay with Stiles after a particularly bad night, but now he doesn't stay any longer than he has to.

Derek stepped out of the closet mere seconds after the Sheriff left, silently making his way across the room to pull Stiles into a hug. It's almost suffocating, but it's surprisingly nice at the same time, and Stiles sighs softly, wrapping his arms around Derek and burrowing his head against his warm shoulder. He misses being hugged like this, and it seems like forever since his last hug with an actual human being. He breathes in deeply, his mind still calming down after his nightmare, and slowly falls asleep in Derek's arms.

...

Stiles wakes up in the morning to find that he actually physically kicked Derek out of the bed at some point. He would've thought something like that wasn't possible for the werewolf, but Derek's splayed out on the ground with half of Stiles' blanket wrapped around his legs. Stiles had thrown himself out of his own bed often enough to know the signs. He kind of wants to laugh at his sudden ability to kick werewolves out of bed, but he squirms his way out of the blanket and twisted sheet instead, and makes his way to the bathroom before heading downstairs to find something to eat. His dad's no longer in the house, and Stiles discovers that the dinner his father made is loaded with carbs and cheese. He writes an angrily worded note on the fridge so the Sheriff will be sure to see it when he arrives home.

He realises that he used up all of the bacon yesterday, and it isn't until Stiles started to hunt for the Pop Tarts that he remembers he had put them in his bag. Which is no longer in the kitchen, and neither is Derek's bag, for that matter. Stiles freaks out, thinking that his dad had confiscated both bags and was probably conducting a search on them down at the station ( _the condoms were only added as a precautionary thing, seriously!_ ).

Stiles runs upstairs to find his phone to ring his dad and tell him exactly that, and almost collides with Derek. His hair is mussed up enough to make Stiles forget about his worry for a moment, and just grin at the sight.

"What're you freaking out about?" Derek asked with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

"Our bags aren't downstairs anymore."

"Oh, right. I put them in the car while you were showering yesterday," Derek admitted, shrugging. "Didn't think you'd want them sitting out where your dad could see."

"Oh. Yeah, of course. Thanks. I don't know why I didn't think of that myself," Stiles said.

"Because you're not as smart as me, obviously," he taunted, lips twitching into a grin.

"Don't push it, Sourwolf, or you're not getting any breakfast."

Derek just raises an eyebrow at him.

"We'll leave after breakfast?" Stiles questioned.

"If you like. I found somewhere to train," Derek said.

"Already? Where?"

"You'll see after breakfast," he replied, heading back to the bed to find his shirt.

Stiles doesn't know what to say to that, so he starts talking about random things that have absolutely nothing to do with training, or training with Derek, or the fact that Derek is shirtless. Derek just raises an eyebrow at him and follows him down to the kitchen, pulling a shirt on along the way.

...

 _Somewhere_ turns out to be an old packing warehouse. Unlike the other warehouses in the area, there aren't as many machines and there's a lot of open space that Stiles can use to practice. That's what Derek tells him at least, but Stiles thinks that it also allows Derek to run around more freely than some of the other buildings, which is all right in his books.

"All right, this is good. Want to train for a bit before we go?" Stiles asked.

Derek nods immediately, and Stiles swears that he's smiling, even though his lips barely move. Stiles takes a breath to calm his nerves and reached down to the darkness inside him. Only this time, he didn't black out completely. It was similar to strobe lighting, where he could only see flashes of things happening.

 _Derek running at him, claws and fangs out. Stiles fighting back with actual honest-to-god_ _ **claws**_ _which then immediately turned into fingers at his sudden surprise. Derek taunting him and going into his ninja stealth mode to sneak up on him. Stiles threatening to rip out his intestines again, and Derek actually laughing in response_.

As he caught these flashes, Stiles slowly came to realise that the spark he felt inside of his body was balancing out the darkness, both things trying to work together and harmonise. After some initial prodding at his spark and shadow, Stiles just settled back and let them go at it (which is as weird as it sounds in his head). The flashes stop and then he's back in his own mind and body, and while his heart's pounding like crazy, Stiles knows that this is completely different to the time lost with the nogitsune.

"Stiles? Are you all right?" Derek asked, stopping abruptly when he realised the white glow was no longer in his eyes.

"No, not really. But I'm getting there," Stiles added, smiling briefly before he collapses on to the concrete floor and tries to breathe.

Derek looks worried for a moment, but then realises that Stiles is lying there breathing and it isn't something possessing him. He offers his leather jacket to Stiles, getting a wary look in response.

"The concrete's cold and I don't think I could handle you being sick," Derek muttered.

"Thanks, Sourwolf," Stiles replied, wrapping himself in the jacket and not bothering to rise to his barb. "Take me home? I need to sleep for a week."

Derek nods, helping Stiles stand and leading him back out to the Camaro before driving him back home.

...

They don't leave Beacon Hills that day, or the next, or even the next week. Their bags are still packed and in the Camaro's trunk (after the Pop Tarts had been salvaged), and Stiles asks Derek every morning if they're leaving that day. He agrees each time, and then they train until they're both too exhausted to think about getting further than a bed to sleep.

Derek starts to fall asleep next to Stiles and more often than not, he's woken up abruptly in the middle of the night after being physically kicked out of bed. Stiles mumbles apologies and drags him back onto the mattress, burrowing into his chest as they fall asleep again. The Sheriff has caught them sleeping together the three times he's been home, and no matter how many times Stiles says they're _just sleeping_ , it still takes him a few days to believe Stiles at all. Derek holds Stiles even though he doesn't cry or get upset, and it's not until he sees the black lines trekking their way up Derek's arm that the reason he's not upset is because he's in so much fucking pain that he can't even bring himself to cry. His dad doesn't trust him - hasn't trusted him in such a long time - and that just hurts Stiles to the very core of his being.

It's like they have an unspoken agreement, because a few minutes after the Sheriff leaves the house, Derek and Stiles are in the Camaro and heading to the warehouse to train. Stiles pushes himself so far and hard that he actually collapses in a spark-fuelled blowout. Literally, in fact. While the blue is pretty in a way, Stiles doesn't think about what seeing those flames would do to Derek. It's not until later that night when he wakes up to _Derek_ screaming in the throes of a nightmare that he realises what he'd done, and Stiles immediately hates himself.

The next morning is awkward, and it's the first time Stiles hasn't kicked Derek out of bed since they started this whole thing, so they wake up completely wrapped around each other. It's ridiculous how entwined they've managed to become over the course of the night, because Stiles tried to itch his tingly arm (he doesn't know how he's got pins and needles when **he's** the one lying on top of Derek) and managed to scratch Derek's arm instead.

"Going to let me up?" Derek asked gruffly.

"Not yet. I'm sorry about... y'know, the flames and stuff. I should've thought about what it'd do to you, and I just ... I'm really sorry."

"I've got to use the bathroom, Stiles, and then we're going to talk about that bullshit, okay?" Derek muttered.

He flips them over so quickly that Stiles is still catching his breath when Derek returns from the bathroom a few minutes later.

"What do you mean _bullshit?_ " Stiles asked as soon as he has his breath back.

"I mean it's bullshit. You successfully used a spell, one that I know you've been trying to work on for a whole week now, and you did it without burning yourself this time. You scared the fuck out of me when you collapsed, and sure, I'd prefer not to be in the near vicinity of flames for the rest of my natural born life, but you don't need to apologise for that."

"But you had a nightmare! You almost kicked me out of bed!"

"Your point? It's not the first or last nightmare I'll ever have," Derek said, shrugging. "Anyway, glass houses and whatever."

"Hey, that's not fair! You don't go around triggering me with your claws and shit. I triggered a bad thing, and I'm apologising for it, so the least you can do is accept my apology!"

"For fuck's sakes, Stiles. I've seen the way you get when anyone even mentions sushi, okay? It was a few flames, and yes, it triggered an emotional response from me, but I am alive and I don't need you to mollycoddle me over this."

"Okay, first: who the fuck says _mollycoddle_ anymore? And second: fuck you, Derek. You're so stubborn that you can't even admit to needing someone!"

"I already admitted that I needed someone, Stiles: you. You're my anchor, remember?"

"Then let me act like it!" Stiles yelled loudly. "I'm your anchor; I fucked up and made you feel like shit, so let me fix it! I need to be able to do _something_ right, just this once, okay?"

"Fine!"

Stiles is surprised at Derek's barked response, but he nods fiercely and moves closer, wrapping his arms, legs, and entire body around Derek before he could change his mind.

"What're you doing?" Derek muttered, but couldn't help rubbing his cheek against Stiles' neck and breathing in his scent deeply.

"Anchoring you," Stiles mumbled, wrapping his arms even tighter still.

Derek didn't bother telling Stiles that anchors weren't quite so literal, instead moving his arms up to hug Stiles in return, breathing deeply and letting his scent and heartbeat steady and calm him. It worked better than he'd expected, so maybe his anchor knew more about this than Derek did. Honestly, that thought didn't surprise him.

...

End of the second chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter Three

...

Unfortunately, as it's Beacon Hills, the next monster arrives less than two weeks later. It's big, ugly, powerful, and hellbent on destroying Stiles. It's got two motives: the first being that Stiles is surprisingly powerful in his own way and it wants a challenge, and the second being that the _thing_ he killed last time was this monster's brother. So, even though there's another threat in town, this time Stiles is the one that's being targeted and in real danger. He knows it's bad because beat-around-the-bush Deaton actually _says_ it's bad, which means it's as absolutely as fucked up as he think it is.

The monsters might have been brothers but they don't operate in the same way: where the last one used paralytic airborne toxins, this one creates hallucinations. The only similarity is that both monsters work by scent. Stiles has a particular smell, apparently, and Deaton gives him a poultice-cream-thing that works like a body wash but actually removes his scent completely. The first day he wears it, Stiles and Scott are at Derek's loft researching ways to get this monster to leave, because it's highly possible that there's at least ten more things in this monster's family, and they'd all want revenge on Stiles if another one died.

Scott can't stop staring at Stiles, sniffing not-so-discreetly every time Stiles looks down at his book, or looks up from his book, or is just generally nearby.

"Dude, if you keep sniffing any more, I'm going to tell your mum that you're sick and can't go out on any dates for the rest of the month! Stop it already, you're creeping me out!"

"I can't help it. It's so weird to know that you're sitting here, but I can't smell you. It's like... I don't even know what it's like, but I know that I don't like it."

Stiles ground his teeth slightly because Scott was somehow making this about him, as usual. _Stiles_ was the one being hunted by a malicious creature intent on killing him, _Stiles_ was the one who had no scent, and _Stiles_ was the one who was doing all the research to try and save the same damn creature that wanted to kill him! But Scott was sitting there, whining like a god damned puppy, because he couldn't _smell_ something!

A burst of anger had him reaching for his spark and shadow to try and calm himself down, but they seem to aggravate his anger instead. It was only due to Derek walking into the room that Stiles managed not to bring out the claws and white glowing eyes like he so desperately wanted to, instead mentally and emotionally latching on to his anchor, closing his eyes and breathing his subtle scent in before he did something stupid. Derek raised an eyebrow, realising that something was wrong from Stiles' expression, but unable to smell the emotion. While he didn't question anything out loud, Derek very purposely sat between Stiles and Scott on the lounge. Scott let out a small huff, but moved slightly, and returned to his book. Stiles slowly relaxed his jaw, unclenched his fists, and slipped his hand under Derek's thigh, needing to touch him and ground himself again.

"Hey, Scott? Can you go get pizza for dinner? Invite Kira if you'd like," Derek added, knowing Scott would immediately latch on to that idea.

"Great idea. Six pizzas should be enough for the four of us," Scott mused. "I'll pick Kira up on the way there. You're not starving right now, are you?" he asked, already standing.

"Take your time, Scott," Stiles said, even though he was kind of hungry.

Scott grinned brightly, puppy dog eyes in full effect as he took his phone out to call Kira, and left the loft. Derek barely waited for the door to close behind Scott before he pulled Stiles into his lap, wrapping his arms around him firmly. Stiles rested his head against Derek's neck and breathed deeply, neither one saying a word while Scott was still in hearing distance.

"What did he do?" Derek murmured a minute later, eyes closed as he stroked Stiles' back gently.

"Made it about himself, as usual," Stiles muttered, wishing he didn't feel quite so annoyed at his supposed best friend.

It had been this way for years, even before Scott was bitten, but at least then they'd been benched on the lacrosse team together then.

"He's adjusting to this still, don't hold it against him," Derek said quietly, trying to act as a mediator.

Stiles hummed something in agreement or to appease Derek, he didn't really know. Then he shifted slightly until he straddled Derek's lap.

"Do I really smell that weird?" Stiles asked with a frown.

Derek immediately leaned forward to sniff at his neck, his hands resting on Stiles' hips. "No, it's just disconcerting. I know you should smell like something, but there's nothing there."

Stiles lifted his hand to smell for himself, trying to see if he could tell the difference. He smelled clean, but not like soap, which yeah, he supposed was a bit weird. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, looking amused, and Stiles scowled back at him.

"Shut up; it's not that bad. Now, come on, we've probably got another hour before Scott and Kira get here. We can train some more; I want to try something."

Derek nodded and let Stiles slide off his lap, watching as Stiles headed upstairs without waiting for him. By the time he made it upstairs, Stiles had already shifted to his spark form and was waiting on him for an attack. Derek didn't disappoint, shifting in a second and lunging for Stiles in the next. Stiles jumped out of the way, rolling smoothly into a low crouch, his body hidden behind Derek's bed. Before Derek can try to attack him again though, Stiles' body shimmered like intense heat from asphalt, and disappeared completely. Honestly, Derek blamed the amount of comics and movies Stiles had watched to the things he can do; just last week, Stiles brought a Harley Quinn sized hammer out of nowhere and proceeded to knock him clear over to the other side of the warehouse.

"You really think it's that easy to hide from me?" Derek taunted, because while he can't _see_ Stiles (or smell him thanks to the soap), he can still hear him, and he can tell that Stiles is working his way around the bed slowly.

Derek pretended to go in the opposite direction, and when he was directly across from Stiles, he turned and jumped, landing on him and his clawed hand pressed against his neck. Still invisible, Stiles squirmed under his body, then there was another shimmer, and he was right there, smirking up at him in triumph. Derek glanced down, only to see a taloned hand mere centimetres away from his stomach. One of the hands he had pinned down was a fake arm, and it disappeared under him abruptly, Derek tilting closer to Stiles still. He grinned down at him and saw that Stiles was himself again, the spark no longer blazing in his eyes.

"Nice work, Stiles. Figured out how to do two fake arms yet?"

"Not yet; I'm getting there though. Might have it ready for Halloween," Stiles joked.

"Let me know when you've got it, I want to see," Derek said.

"Of course. You'd be the first, Der. Now let me up, I need something to drink; it's thirsty work turning invisible, y'know," Stiles said, grinning.

Derek nodded seriously in response, then stood and offered Stiles his hand. He took it and brushed himself off before he headed downstairs again. Stiles was finally starting to remember the spark training more with each passing day, and it had even begun to feel like he might actually get it under control - memories and all - by the end of the year. Stiles hoped so, because as soon as he's got it under control, he won't have to stay in Beacon Hills anymore to train.

"We'll leave tomorrow?" Stiles asked quietly, resting his head on Derek's shoulder once they were seated on the lounge, glasses of water in hand.

"If you like," Derek replied, wrapping an arm around Stiles' shoulders before picking up his research book and starting to read.

Stiles read over his splayed hand, and he knew that Derek knew he was reading it too, because he didn't flip the pages as fast as he usually did, waiting for an indication from Stiles to turn the page. They stayed like that until Scott returned almost an hour later with Kira, Lydia, and pizzas in tow. Lydia still seemed a little apprehensive when she looked at Stiles, but he didn't let it bother him; he was training now, he was no longer the nogitsune, and if she could forgive Jackson for being a Kanima, the she could sure as fuck forgive him too.

"Hope there's something in here about that monster, I really don't want to use this soap for the rest of my life," Stiles muttered, hoping for a joking tone and probably coming out a little bitter.

Derek snorted in amusement, but Scott looked a little indignant, so Stiles shoved a slice of pizza in his own mouth to shut up.

"We'll find something," Lydia said, brisk and businesslike. "Hand me that book in archaic Latin, Stiles; I'll start looking in there."

Stiles stopped chewing, surprised that she'd actually addressed him, but wiped his greasy hand on his hoodie and passed the book over the table to her.

"Thanks," Lydia said, offering a smile, though smaller than her usual kind.

He nodded, mouth still full of pizza, and felt a little happier as he looked down at his book. Beside him, Derek squeezed his hand gently and then returned his attention to his own pizza and book. Scratch that, Stiles now felt a lot happier.

...

Despite the time they all spent researching, nothing turned up. The second monster was harder to pin down due to its hallucinogenic properties, especially as reported sightings of it varied from person to person, with anything from Mighty Mouse to Big Foot recorded. Stiles hoped it was closer to Mighty Mouse than Big Foot; at least he could drop-kick a mouse.

Derek was worried and trained him harder than before, sometimes barely waiting for the Sheriff to leave before he started out of the front door to the car. Stiles didn't mind, really; his father no longer asked where he went during the day since he knew he was with Derek. At least, that's what Stiles told himself.

He didn't like to think that no one besides Derek trusted him anymore, and he was so very good at pushing away hurt emotions by now that it was hardly second nature for him to do exactly that as soon as he felt the hurt emotions prickling in his chest. It didn't stop Derek from spending a good half an hour every morning and night leaching away his pain - emotional, physical, whatever. Once Derek had finished, Stiles anchored both of them, wrapping himself around Derek until they drifted off to sleep. With Stiles' body wrapped on top of him, Derek was rarely kicked out of the bed, and they woke up pressed up against each other more often than not, Derek's arms wrapped around Stiles with Stiles' face buried in the crook of Derek's neck.

Stiles was about to go into the grocery store, to buy a roast chicken and bread rolls for dinner with Derek - and his dad, if he wasn't staying at the station - when the monster attacked him. He was knocked clear off his feet, across the parking lot, and smashed into a car's door. He struggled to stand up, his back pulsing in pain and his arm at a crooked angle - _fuck, he was not going to throw up, not when he had to fight_ \- but the monster was no longer there. Stiles waited, heart pounding, willing the thing to show itself or try to attack him again, but there was nothing. Instead, after a few minutes, the owner of the car came out of the grocery store and started abusing Stiles for wrecking her car. Stiles had no idea how she thought he'd managed to dent her fucking car door just by falling over, but she seemed adamant that it was his fault and he'd have to pay for the damages. Stiles threw up on her shoes and then fainted.

Stiles woke up in the hospital to find his arm in a cast and Derek waiting beside his bed, looking anxious and angry and annoyed all at once.

"Hey. You look sourer-er than usual, sourwolf," Stiles murmured; the drugs that had been given to him to ease his pain were obviously working.

"The soap didn't work. That thing still found you," Derek snapped.

Stiles' drug-addled mind took a moment to process his words, and it was almost a full minute before he realised that Derek wasn't actually angry and annoyed at _him_. That was a nice change, for once.

"Hey, don't leave, sourwolf. Need m' anchor," Stiles mumbled, holding out his hand and making grabbing motions. At least, he thought he did; his limbs felt so _heavy_.

Some of the anger and annoyance seemed to leak out of Derek's expression and shoulders and entire body, and he nodded in response, moving to the seat beside Stiles' bed and taking his hand. Derek didn't leach his pain since the drugs were already doing a good enough job of that for him, but instead, brought Stiles' hand up to rest the back of his palm against his cheek.

"That's nice," Stiles mumbled, eyes drifting closed.

"Yeah, it is," Derek murmured in return, watching the heavy rise and fall of Stiles' chest as sleep claimed him once more.

He was going to _kill_ Deaton for putting Stiles in danger like this.

...

End of the third chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter Four

...

When Stiles woke up, it was to find Derek's head resting next to his ribs, their arms entangled under his sourwolf's head. He smiled softly at the sight, and contemplated closing his eyes to go to sleep again. A slight cough from the doorway made him realise that they weren't the only two in the room, and Stiles looked up to see his father standing in the doorway, still dressed in his Sheriff's uniform. His uniform was clean, but his dad kinda looked like shit, Stiles realised, frowning slightly.

"You 'kay, Dad?" he asked, still a little tired from the drugs he'd been given.

"I... Uh, I just..."

Stiles winced because his father's voice was wavering, his shoulders starting to shake, and then he was actually crying. Fuck, he _hated_ it when his dad cried, and just like he was six years old all over again, Stiles had no idea what to do. There wasn't much he could do from this distance, and temporarily stuck in the bed thanks to the werewolf's weight beside him, but that didn't stop him from trying to get off the bed anyway.

Derek jolted awake sharply, and Stiles would normally laugh at his expression but he couldn't because his dad was crying, he didn't know _why_ , and he didn't know how to make it better. Derek seemed to take in the situation at a glance, saw how distressed the Sheriff was and Stiles' look of anguish in a mere second before he stood up and guided the Sheriff over to the spare armchair, slowly leaching his pain as he sat down. Stiles sighed in relief when he saw that his Dad's shoulders had stopped shaking. The Sheriff wiped at his tears quickly, coughing again, but didn't move Derek's hand from his forearm, though the black lines were stark and easily seen in the bright glare of the lights overhead.

"Sorry, I... it's been a long 24 hours," the Sheriff muttered. "In fact, it's been a long three months. I didn't... I could've lost... _Shit_."

"Dad!" Stiles said, eyes wide because his father hardly ever swore.

"I'm a grown man, Stiles, I'm allowed to say what I want," John said, looking weary. "I'm fine now, Derek, thank you," he added.

Derek let the last lines of the Sheriff's pain draw up his arm before he let go and moved back to the chair on the other side of Stiles' bed. It didn't escape Stiles' attention that Derek still had his claws out, ready to attack or defend as needed.

"What's wrong, Pops?" Stiles asked, sitting up awkwardly and trying not to agitate his broken arm.

"I'm sorry for the way I've acted, the way I've treated you - ignored you. I didn't want to, but I still did it, and I'm so sorry."

"If you didn't want to, then why did you?" Derek asked, voice a low growl with his arms crossed over his chest.

The Sheriff sighed again, sounding weary and exhausted, and Stiles didn't know how he wanted to react. He was kind of pissed at his father for acting the way he had, but he looked so tired and upset that Stiles kind of wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and give him his hospital bed.

"Deaton and Scott believed it would be for the best. They didn't know if you were dangerous, if you were a danger to me, and after the warehouse, they convinced me it would be best to stay away. But if it means losing you, then screw that. You almost died, and I couldn't, I can't... I can't lose you too," the Sheriff said, voice broken. "I'm not going anywhere, son. Unless you want me to," he added hastily, looking at Stiles as if trying to determine his response from his expression alone.

Derek gave a slight nod, and Stiles knew that his dad was telling the truth at least. He looked down at his lap, the small device on his finger monitoring his heartbeat, and he could hear it was beating a little faster than normal.

"I need to think about it. I don't ... I don't want to lose you either, but the last three months have been kind of shitty, and I need some time, okay?"

John nodded reluctantly, standing slowly, like he was 150 years old instead of a spry almost-50 year old. "I understand. You, uh, call me, or text - whichever you want - whenever you've had enough time. I'll wait."

"I'll walk you out," Derek offered suddenly, hands dropping to his sides as he stood up, his claws finally retracted.

"Thanks, Derek," he replied quietly.

"No bacon or burgers!" Stiles called as they left.

He thought he heard a somewhat incredulous laugh from his father in response, and it brought a small smile to his face.

...

Stiles was a little jumpy when he was discharged from the hospital. It had nothing to do with his father not being there, and more to do with the fact that he was certain the monster would be in the parking lot waiting for him, come to finish off what it had started. Derek assured him that it wasn't, even going so far as to help Stiles outside himself. (He'd refused a wheelchair for something as small as a broken arm, though Derek had looked as though he'd wanted to argue with Stiles on his decision.)

Stiles' Jeep was at the mechanics, one of the many vehicles that had been damaged by the monster, so Derek drove him back to the loft in the Camaro instead. Stiles didn't bother asking why they weren't going to his home; both his father and Derek were taking his need for space and time seriously.

They made it inside the loft without incident, and when the large metal door slid shut behind him, Stiles let out a small sigh of relief. He felt much safer now that he was inside Derek's loft, and had a feeling that he wouldn't have felt quite as safe if he'd gone home instead.

"We don't have to train until your arm's healed," Derek said, heading upstairs with Stiles' bag slung over his shoulder.

"Why not?" Stiles called after him, confused. He headed over to the bottom of the winding staircase, looking up and waiting for Derek to reply or come back down.

"Because your arm's broken," Derek replied, sounding a little incredulous at Stiles' response.

"Yeah, so? Monsters aren't going to wait for my arm to heal, y'know. Might as well keep training."

Derek came back downstairs holding a shirt and pair of sweatpants. He handed them to Stiles, and frowned slightly. "You _really_ don't want to stay in Beacon Hills, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," Stiles replied, tugging his pants off and pulling on the sweatpants awkwardly with one hand.

"Hands up," Derek said.

"Huh?"

"Put your hands up. I'm not taking you back to the hospital after you break your arm again because you were trying to put a shirt on," Derek deadpanned.

Stiles made a face, but put his hands up anyway. Derek scrunched up his shirt and pulled it off carefully, taking extra care not to hit Stiles' arm. He used the same care when putting the fresh shirt back on him, straightening it out with a broad palm. Stiles bit his lip so he wouldn't moan at the feeling of Derek touching him like this. They'd been closer when training, actually ended up straddling each other at one point or another, but this felt different. It felt like _intent_ , like _want_. Stiles wasn't sure how to deal with either of those feelings, not when they were directed at him.

Derek's hands slipped down his chest to hold him at his waist, and Stiles was going to ask him what he was doing, if he was reading this whole thing right, but then Derek's hands moved to the middle of his pants, fingers splayed for a moment. Stiles felt a little light-headed, and this time he _really was_ going to make the proper talking sounds with his mouth, then Derek pulled on the sweatpants' strings tight and tied them firmly around his waist.

" _Whu_?" Stiles murmured as Derek stepped back.

"We'll train tomorrow, okay? You can rest for one more night," Derek said, and Stiles might have been seeing things but he was almost positive that Derek's cheeks were red. "Chinese for dinner?" he asked, heading to the lounge room. "You can pick a movie," Derek added over his shoulder.

Stiles held onto the bannister to steady himself before he followed after Derek. The sooner he got out of Beacon Hills, the better.

By the time he'd finished eating his chow mein and egg rolls, and watched all of _Captain America: Winter Soldier_ , Stiles was exhausted. He'd done nothing but sleep and rest for the last two days in hospital, but it was different at the loft, and not just because he didn't have drugs. Derek had started to leach his pain halfway through the movie, which made Stiles even drowsier still. He barely managed to see Bucky and Steve's fight on the air carrier - which was one of his favourite parts of the movie - before he rested his head on Derek's shoulder to sleep.

Stiles was aware that he was being moved, that he was being carried upstairs, and he clung to Derek's shirt with his good arm, not letting go even when he fell back to sleep seconds later. He must have been dreaming when he felt a soft press of lips at his temple, or the firm arm that wrapped around his middle, or felt the warm breath that ghosted along his neck.

...

Stiles had been sitting in Deaton's examination office for almost twenty minutes. Derek had spent every one of those minutes glowering at Deaton so hard the other man might actually have died if looks really could kill. Deaton, for all of his calm and cool-headedness, looked _wary_ of Derek. Stiles wanted to laugh when he realised that Deaton took the long way around the examination table just to avoid where Derek was sitting. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at Derek as if to say 'look what you've done now', and Derek's mouth quirked slightly in response.

"You're certain you were using the soap I gave you?" Deaton asked.

"You mean the soap that removed his scent and was supposed to keep him safe?" Derek growled, features tight with anger once more.

"Uh, yeah, I was using it," Stiles added.

"I never said _safe_ , I simply stated that the monster should not be able to find you by your scent. Since it did find you, then we must assume it is tracking you by something else. Had your clothes been washed recently, your car?"

"Washed my clothes on the weekend, like always," Stiles replied.

"But not your car?"

"No; washing the Jeep wasn't on my to do list for last weekend. That list was pretty much taken up by 'not dying'," Stiles muttered, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Wash your car, wash your clothes, and use the soap this time. It won't be able to find you next time," Deaton promised.

"There won't be a next time," Derek snarled, taking Stiles' arm and leading him out of Deaton's examination room, to both Deaton and Stiles' surprise.

Stiles stayed quiet until they were in the Camaro, Derek pulling out of the parking lot a few moments later. "You came close to clawing Deaton's face off in there, didn't you?" he asked.

Derek glanced over at him briefly, then turned his attention back to the road. His eyes were blue and fingers were clawed, knuckles white as he clenched the wheel tighter.

"He didn't protect you, and he and Scott convinced your father to avoid you like the plague. I'm not forgiving him any time soon."

Stiles wondered if Derek had felt the same wolf-invoking anger with the Druid after his family had died. Derek glanced at him as Stiles reminisced on how angry Derek had been that he'd been hurt, the recent lingering touches and looks, how he would have fought the Sheriff to keep him safe, his answer every morning when Stiles asked whether they'd leave. Everything seemed to slot into place, and Stiles looked at Derek, realising something important that he should have realised _months_ ago.

"Hey, turn up here. On the left," Stiles said, grinning broadly.

Derek didn't even question him, flicking the indicator on and turning down the road. They passed the ' _Thank you for visiting Beacon Hills_ ' sign in relative silence, the only noise from Stiles' leg jittering against the floor. The road out of Beacon Hills had been carved out through the forest, the preserve still stretching on either side, and large conifers leaning towards each other overhead. Under the canopy of green, it almost felt like they were in a large ocean instead of a forest, and Stiles grinned at Derek's expression in the filtered light. He had calmed enough that his eyes were hazel and his claws had slipped away.

"Right up ahead."

"Where? There's nothing but trees, Stiles."

"There's a road there, promise," he replied. "See the marker on the road, right after that."

Derek nodded, and turned right at the marker. The gap between the trees was slim, barely wide enough for a car to fit through, and Derek thought that most people would drive straight past it, especially if they were on their way out of Beacon Hills. He certainly had never noticed it before.

He drove at a slower pace, wary of fallen trees, but the further he drove, Derek realised that the path was widening somewhat. It was gradual, but eventually, the path stopped and both the driver and passenger side doors could open without a scratch. Stiles clambered out of the car with all of his usual grace, closing the door behind him and looking down to where Derek was still seated.

"C'mon, sourwolf. We've only got so much daylight left, and I want to be home before that monster tracks me down again."

Derek felt a swelling of _something_ flow through him at the word 'home'; he didn't know how to describe it, but it felt _right_. Then the rest of Stiles' sentence filtered through, and he let out a small growl and was out of the car within seconds. Before Stiles could say or do anything, Derek pulled him close, sitting on the hood of his Camaro with Stiles fitted between his legs. He wrapped his arms around him, buried his face into the crook of his neck, and made sure that his scent was all over Stiles. The soap might remove Stiles' scent, but that hadn't stopped the damn monster last time. Derek refused to let Stiles get hurt by that creature again.

"All right, I think I'm scented enough now, Der. Even **I** can smell that I smell like you," Stiles added, patting him on the back.

Derek lingered for a moment longer, his lips brushing against the curve of Stiles' neck as he pulled away. Stiles had his eyes closed, his hands resting on Derek's waist, and Derek felt a surge of pride when he scented Stiles' arousal and saw the goosebumps that had pricked up along Stiles' skin because of him.

"So, where are we?" Derek prompted gently, keeping his hand on Stiles' shoulder, his thumb stroking his scent against Stiles' collarbone lightly.

Stiles blinked, his pupils dilated to the point where the brown colour of his irises was nothing but a thin line, and he licked his lips quickly.

"About three minutes outside of Beacon Hills. The first day I got my license and could drive on my own, I headed out of town. I'd spent so much time driving around Beacon Hills that I wanted nothing more than to get out, just be by myself for a bit. I had a panic attack within five minutes of passing the sign; the world seemed so much bigger suddenly, and I didn't know how to cope with that, so I pulled in to the side of the road and drove into the trees through the largest gap I could find. It felt safe, like I'd been wrapped up in a cocoon and everything would be all right again.

"I stayed in here for the rest of the day. It took me another month before I could even go past the sign without hyperventilating, even for lacrosse games; the others thought I was nervous about the upcoming game or something, I think," Stiles mused, shrugging. "Then I realised that just because the world is huge, it doesn't mean that I'm small. In comparison, yeah, sure, but everything on Earth is small in comparison, and just because something's small, it doesn't mean it can't leave any less of an impact than something ten times their size.

"So I started driving _everywhere_ in Beacon County. I pulled out the map that had been under my seat since Dad gave it to me, and I drove to every street, lane, boulevard, whatever, that I could find. I found a little place that sells European meats and their kielbasa is amazing. I found that there's a clothing market in the main street of one of the smaller towns, and Lydia would probably love the one-off pieces. There's at least four occult stores within fifteen minutes of Beacon Hills, and I'm pretty sure that three of them are owned by real witches," Stiles added, stopping to think and _breathe_ for a moment.

"Stiles? I don't understand what your point is with all this," Derek admitted a moment later when Stiles didn't continue.

Stiles looked up at the trees above them, branches reaching and entwining, and gave a small grin. "When I was going to run away, I was going to get another book of maps and find out everything I could about all of these different towns. I was going to head out on my own, and I knew that no one would be able to find me because I knew how to get lost in Beacon County, so I could lose anyone too, even those with wolfy senses," he added with a short laugh.

Derek wanted to argue, to tell Stiles he'd always be able to find him as his anchor, but he suspected that Stiles already knew.

"When you said you were going to come with me, that I was your anchor, I realised that I didn't _want_ to leave on my own again. I wanted you to go with me, and not just because you're my anchor too," Stiles admitted, and even in the green haze, Derek could see a faint blush on Stiles' cheeks.

"Are you asking me to run away with you?" Derek asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I kinda am," Stiles said, laughing. "We'll leave tomorrow?"

"If you'd like," Derek replied as always, then tugged Stiles close to kiss him firmly.

Stiles melted against Derek's chest, fingers clutching his shoulders as they kissed for the first time. Derek's mouth was soft, but his stubble brushed against his skin, feeling as though static electricity sparked between them. Stiles licked at Derek's lips, his tongue brushing up against his as Derek parted his lips. Derek's fingers tightened on Stiles' hips, and Stiles could feel himself being tugged firm up against Derek's body. They pulled away eventually, Stiles' eyes hooded as he licked his lips to chase the taste of Derek on his mouth. Derek smiled and gave him a chaste kiss.

"Let's go home."

Stiles nodded, and they each headed to their sides of the Camaro. Derek had to concentrate on reversing out of the forest path, but he could feel Stiles watching him. When they were on the road again and heading back towards Beacon Hills, Stiles rested his hand on Derek's thigh. He let go of the steering wheel long enough to squeeze Stiles' hand gently in return, and Stiles' smiled happily the rest of the way home.

...

End of the fourth chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter Five

...

Completely invisible, Stiles ran through the warehouse, keeping his breaths even as Derek tried to catch him. Somewhere behind him, Derek snarled, unable to track Stiles by sight or scent, and he silently cursed their agreement to not use their anchor link for training. The sound of Stiles' feet hitting the concrete echoed in the large warehouse and Derek found it difficult to concentrate on the sound properly. Of course, that could also be the lack of coffee. It was earlier in the morning than he'd like, but Stiles had been insistent on training early so they could go back home for sexy times ( _Stiles' words, not Derek's_ ), and Derek couldn't bring himself to deny him.

Stiles' footsteps stopped suddenly, and Derek took a few hesitant steps in the direction he thought Stiles had gone. Stiles grinned on seeing Derek heading in the wrong direction, then pulled off his shoes before stepping up onto the metal stairs soundlessly. He entertained himself with watching Derek wander around for a few minutes, then let out a loud and obnoxious yawn.

"C'mon, sourwolf! I'm getting bored over here," Stiles called, his voice bouncing off the corrugated walls.

"Tell me where you are, and I'll be happy to change that," Derek muttered.

"You really can't find me?" Stiles asked, sounding curious.

 _If Stiles had been able to hear that, then that meant he was close by_ , Derek reasoned, inhaling deeply and concentrating again.

"If you had wolf ears, they'd be twitching right now," Stiles said with a laugh.

Derek opened his eyes, blue tinting his vision, and looked directly up. Stiles was sitting on one of the walkways, his shoes dangling from a loose grip as his legs swung beneath him. Stiles winked at him then went invisible again. Derek growled lowly, tensing his body as he jumped up as high as he possibly could, reaching for the rail. His fingers stretched out, and though he felt the metal under the tip of his finger, Derek missed the rail.

"Whoa, no you don't!" Stiles yelped, and Derek's descent stopped abruptly as a hand curled around his wrist.

He looked up to see Stiles there, eyes glowing white as he struggled to hold Derek up with one hand. Derek could practically see the thought processes running through Stiles' head.

"Don't you _dare_ hurt yourself, Stiles," Derek growled. "I'll heal, just let me go. You've only got one more week to get the cast off, don't break it again!"

"Yeah, well, you're not breaking a limb on my watch," Stiles muttered, reaching over to grab him with both hands and jerk him upwards, letting out a cry of pain as the action jarred his broken arm.

Derek grabbed the walkway grate and pulled himself up until he was sitting next to Stiles. He immediately started draining Stiles' pain away, though he muttered under his breath every so often about _recklessness_ and _foolishness_ and _should've just let me fall_.

"It didn't break again, it's all right, Der."

"That's _not the point_ , Stiles."

"It's either this, or me throwing up 'cause I was forced to see your body broken into a billion pieces. I'll take 'things that _don't_ make me throw up' for $100," Stiles snarked.

Derek muttered something under his breath that was too low for Stiles to hear, but he understood the general gist of it, and muttered about _stubborn werewolves_ right back at him.

"Training's over for the day, right?"

Derek gave a brief nod, still concentrating on leaching Stiles' pain.

"Good. That means it's time for sex now!" Stiles said, grinning. "Wait, not _right_ now. This place is good for training in, but I don't want my dick to need a tetanus shot, y'know?"

"I really don't know _how_ I resisted having sex with you years ago," Derek deadpanned.

"Neither do I; I'm irresistible!" Stiles quipped, kissing him before he headed downstairs and out to the Camaro.

Derek rolled his eyes, but he still followed Stiles out quicker than he usually did. By the grin on Stiles' face, he knew it too.

...

Derek was sure that he'd never broken so many road rules in his life as he did in the next ten minutes. At least, not at a time when he wasn't running for his life. Stiles was grinning in the passenger seat, detailing _every single thing_ he'd thought about doing to Derek, _with_ Derek, and it was _infuriating_. Derek had always found it hard to _not_ listen to Stiles, and now that Stiles was talking about his mouth wrapped around his cock, Derek had no hope of tuning him out at all.

"... then I'd suck and - _oh shit, look out!_ " Stiles yelled, clutching his seat belt as Derek immediately braked.

Derek had looked away from the road for half a second, if that, trying to gauge how turned on Stiles was since he still couldn't smell him (his wolf was as frustrated about that as Derek was), and when he stopped so suddenly, their hearts pounding, Derek looked out onto the road.

"A rabbit? Stiles, I eat those pests for breakfast; it probably would've disappeared by the time we reached it," Derek muttered.

"That's... dude, that's _not_ a rabbit," Stiles said, and though his heart was pounding a mile a minute, there wasn't a hint of a lie in it.

Derek looked out at the rabbit sitting on the road, licking its paws and flicking them over its ears, then to Stiles' terrified and pale expression. Slowly, Derek reached out to Stiles, his hand covering one of Stiles' white-knuckled grips on his seatbelt.

"Show me what you're seeing."

Stiles let out a soft whimper and there was a bloom of mist against the window that made him shrink back against his seat. Derek heard Stiles swearing under his breath over and over, but he could _feel_ the magic flow between them, and suddenly, the rabbit was gone. In its place was a hunchbacked monster that towered over the Camaro, its face bent down, mere millimetres from the glass. It was dripping some sort of ooze, the thick liquid sliding off the monster's leathery body in globs. It had about five legs, from what Derek could see, and at least two arms were hanging listlessly on either side of its body as it stared at them.

"What do we do?" Derek asked quietly.

"What? Why're you asking _me?_ " Stiles squeaked, voice high despite his intent to whisper and not draw the hunchbacked monster's attention.

"You're the one with all of the plans," Derek muttered.

"I'm also the one on the verge of a panic attack. Why couldn't it have been Mighty Mouse?" Stiles groaned.

"I'm going to reverse the car, okay? We need to get some distance before it realises we can actually see it properly."

"No. No, it'll chase after us then. We've... _fuck_ , we've got to fight it now. We have to get out of the car," Stiles said between short breaths.

"Will I still be able to see it if I let go of you?" Derek asked, his fingers tightening around Stiles' hand briefly.

"Not sure. It should last, but try it now," he replied.

"Breathe, Stiles; you're about to pass out," Derek said, slowly taking his hand away from him. He was almost disappointed that he could still see the monster. "I can still see it."

Beside him, Stiles sucked in several deep breaths, exhaling noisily.

"It's all right, it's just a rabbit. We'll have to move it off the road if it won't move by itself," Derek said, voice a little louder.

The monster looked towards him, and Derek opened his door to step out. Then, before he did, he turned to Stiles and grinned broadly.

"If this rabbit hadn't stopped us, we'd already be home by now. I would've had you pressed up against the door, probably already had my hand curled around your cock, but we have to deal with this _rabbit_ instead," Derek said, not as unaffected as some might assume, and he stepped out of the Camaro completely.

Stiles' jaw dropped slightly, and Derek's words had the desired effect as Stiles' fear was replaced with the initial stirrings of anger instead.

" _Oh, fuck no!_ "

Stiles was out of the car half a second later, not even bothering to continue along with the whole rabbit façade, and let out a roar worthy of a werewolf, his body growing taller to match the height of the monster. Derek roared along with him, making sure their combined sound would be loud enough for the others to hear, though he was fairly sure Stiles' roar was loud enough to be heard in Hill Valley.

The monster seemed surprised when it realised that both Stiles and Derek were able to see it properly, its beady eyes widening. It got over its surprise quickly, planted its feet firm against the road, and gave a battle-cry of its own in return.

"If we kill it, the rest of its family will come for revenge," Derek reminded Stiles.

Stiles was a whole body length taller than him, and was seemingly staring down the monster, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Then what the fuck do we do?"

Derek honestly didn't have an answer to that. His own style of fighting usually ended up with someone being hurt (often himself) or killed. He had never really needed a different strategy than that. With all of the training he and Stiles had been doing, they hadn't thought of a solution themselves. Deaton hadn't provided answers, nor would Derek have been able to trust anything that the Druid did say, not anymore.

Stiles didn't get a chance to repeat his question because the monster moved forward with a loud snarl, claws extended and intent on hurting them. He used his good arm to block the fist that was aimed for his head, shoved the monster away, and tried to get enough momentum in his abnormally large arms to fight back. It was awkward being so tall and large, especially after training at his normal height for all of this time.

The monster, on the other hand, was completely at ease with its height and strength. Stiles blocked both of the monster's arms this time, his casted arm throbbing in pain, and he wished that the monster was smaller to level the playing field a bit. He blinked in surprise when the monster actually shrank down by a few centimetres, and then Stiles grinned; _now_ _ **that**_ _was something he could work with!_

He was so pleased with his discovery that he didn't block the next oncoming fist. Stiles didn't have time to react before Derek was there in front of him, jumping off the bonnet of the Camaro hard enough to dent it. He was immediately swatted aside by the monster like he was nothing more than a bug, one of the monster's extra set of hands reaching out to crush him, but deciding not to move away from Stiles in the end.

Stiles' eyes widened when he saw Derek crumple down on the side of the road, and he turned on the monster with a low growl. Again, he wished and believed that it would shrink, but nothing happened.

"Wha-?" Stiles said in confusion, getting sucker-punched in the stomach a second later.

He groaned, grabbing about until he could grab onto something to lever himself up. Stiles managed to take hold of one of the the monster's legs, and he shuddered at the disgusting feel of the goo and slime under his hand, feeling it soaking into his cast, even as he desperately tried to think _why_ it hadn't worked that time. _If the monster was smaller, he could fight it easier and possibly even win!_ The monster shrank by five centimetres, and it let out a roar as it flailed its leg to try to get him off.

Stiles held on tight, fingers digging in to the slippery, leathery flesh, gritting his teeth at the pain flaring in his injured arm. He frowned, looking up to the monster's smaller stature and back down to his hands. It seemed that touch was the deciding and necessary factor. As disgusting as it was, he was going to have to hold on to this monster to keep shrinking it. As long as he didn't shrink it out of existence - and Stiles wasn't even sure that he could do that, honestly - he wouldn't be _killing_ it, and the monster's family wouldn't come to seek their revenge.

The monster pummelled his back with three fists, and Stiles almost let go right there and then. It felt worse than landing flat on his back in the warehouse with its concrete floor. He was going to be as bruised as all hell tomorrow morning. _Assuming he survived, of course_.

"Gotta concentrate to survive. C'mon," Stiles told himself sternly, trying to curl in on his body to become less of a target for the monster's fists, his arms wrapped around the monster's leg awkwardly.

The monster continued to hit and punch undeterred by Stiles' smaller size, and he was sure he'd be bruised from head to toe instead. Stiles let out a cry of surprise and fear when his whole body flew upwards suddenly along with the monster's leg, but he only clung on tighter still, refusing to let go and be catapulted through the air.

Stiles heard a screech of tyres and winced at the sound, wondering just how he'd explain this to any random passersby. For all he knew, the monster was still leaking its hallucinogens, and the person thought he was fighting a goddamn bunny rabbit in the middle of the road.

"Stiles?"

Relief washed through him on hearing Lydia's voice. "Is it a bunny?" he called back to her, still wishing and thinking and believing that the monster was shrinking.

"What?"

"Does the thing I'm holding on to look like a rabbit?"

"Not unless it's the ugliest rabbit in existence. Honestly, is that thing _oozing_? That's disgusting," Lydia said.

Stiles shuddered as a whole glob fell directly onto his face. "I'm aware of that, thank you!"

"I don't know exactly what I can help with here. I was across town getting a smoothie when I heard you and Derek."

"Where from?" Stiles asked a second later, struggling to use his hand to wipe some of the ooze off his face. He didn't think it worked very well.

"Wh... Oh, uh, the new vegan place?"

"The one with the mason jars?"

"That's it. I didn't know you'd been there."

"I haven't, I've just seen the jars around town. They've got screw on lids, right?" Stiles called on a yelp as the monster tried a combination of kicking its leg and hitting him at the same time.

He narrowly avoided getting his cast smashed by the monster, and shifted his concentration for a moment, giving himself sharp talons and digging them into the monster's leg, relishing in the roar of pain the monster gave. The monster swiped down at him with sharp claws, and Stiles' relish was short-lived as he felt them connect with his skin, long tears through his jeans and into his leg.

"Fuck," Lydia swore loudly when she saw Stiles' blood mixing with the ooze that was congealing on the asphalt. Then she realised that the monster was shrinking, fast enough now to make it noticeable, and realised what Stiles needed.

She ran back to her car, grabbed the smoothie from her cup holder, and tipped $15 worth of the smoothie on the side of the road to empty the jar.

"I've got the jar, Stiles; you just keep holding on," Lydia called out.

Stiles thought he made a response, but he was also seeing stars in the middle of the day, so he wasn't quite sure. Vaguely, Stiles heard Derek groaning in pain, and he hoped that he was okay. Concentrating took more work now, the monster fighting back with its hallucinogens and desperately trying to get Stiles to believe that it was a rabbit or some other harmless creature instead.

"Yeah, I've seen Monty Python, dude; you keep thinking bunnies are harmless," Stiles scoffed through a mouthful of blood and what he hoped was his own saliva.

The monster roared again, then moved to sit down right on top of Stiles. He winced and believed _extra hard_ , his fingers slipping away from the monster as it shrank so abruptly that he lost hold of it completely. The monster started to grow again almost immediately, but now that Stiles had fallen into the wet liquid patch beneath him, he was having trouble getting up again, and he couldn't get up to catch the monster.

There was a snarl and Derek pounced forward, landing with a squishing noise that made Stiles shudder. Derek looked as disgusted as both Stiles and Lydia, but he made his way through the puddle to deposit the still-growing monster in front of Stiles.

"You'll have to hold on to him until we can figure something else out," Derek said, taking the offered mason jar from Lydia to scoop the monster into it.

He screwed the lid on tight and handed the jar to Stiles for safekeeping.

Stiles nodded, sticking his finger in the lid where the straw had lived only scant seconds ago. "We'll have to go to Deaton. I don't know how long I can keep it in here. If I lose concentration and it grows back to its original size, we're fucked. I know you don't trust him anymore, Derek, but if he's got a solution, then we've got to at least _try_."

"If you get hurt because of his actions - or inaction - again, then he'll be the one fitting inside of that jar. _In pieces_ ," Derek snarled.

"Not to put a dent in your plans, but the dent in your Camaro probably means you won't be able to get to Deaton before Stiles loses concentration," Lydia pointed out.

As if to prove it, the monster grew a centimetre taller. Stiles paled and hurried to make it smaller, shrinking it so it was hardly taller than a third of the jar and his finger barely touched the monster.

"Will you take us to Deaton's, Lydia?" Derek asked.

Lydia looked between them, Stiles bruised and bleeding and covered in who knew what, and Derek still looking fairly messed up from connecting with the road, despite his werewolf healing.

"I just had the interior cleaned on the weekend," she said with a heavy sigh. "But get in," Lydia added reluctantly, getting into the driver's seat.

"I'll pay to get it cleaned," Derek offered, ushering Stiles over.

"Yes, you will. Ah, back seat, Stiles! Derek, you're in the front. Neither of you say a thing on the way there; if that monster grows while it's in my car, you don't want to know what I'll do to you," Lydia threatened.

Stiles barely acknowledged her threat, but moved to sit in the back seat alone. Derek looked ready to argue with Lydia, but gave a firm nod, and sat in the passenger seat instead.

After Derek organised someone to pick up and tow his Camaro, he rang the Sheriff to let him know what had happened, mostly so they could get to Deaton's faster. The Sheriff didn't ask too many questions, and agreed to lead them to the clinic.

Stiles was silent in the back seat, holding the mason jar in one hand and keeping his finger on the monster, trying to ignore the feel of ooze, goo _and_ strawberry smoothie. Concentrating so hard kept his mind off the throbbing pain in his arm, and despite his earlier reassurance to Derek, Stiles really hoped that he hadn't broken his arm again.

The Sheriff's cruiser was waiting for them at the main road, and as soon as the Sheriff saw Lydia's car come into view, he turned on his sirens and lights, and drove to Deaton's clinic like the bats of hell were after him. Lydia was never more than half a metre behind him, and Derek was impressed by her driving skills, though he certainly wasn't going to admit it while she was concentrating so intently on the road ahead of them.

Lydia pulled up in front of the clinic's door with a sharp stop that almost flung them all out of their seats. Without waiting to recover from the whiplash, Derek got out of the car and helped Stiles inside. The Sheriff frowned down at the trail of wet footprints that Stiles led into the clinic, but Lydia just shook her head to avoid any questions, and they both followed after the werewolf and spark.

...

End of the fifth chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter Six

...

Deaton had a look of surprise when they entered the back room and Scott frowned at the group in confusion.

"I thought the sirens were going past the clinic?" Scott questioned, looking between them, his frown deepening when he saw the state Stiles was in.

"We caught the monster that hurt Stiles; you need to do something to keep it at this size, Deaton," Derek said, ignoring Scott's questoin.

The Druid looked at the mason jar Stiles was holding, barely able to see the creature inside past the thick screen of smoothie.

"Tip it on the examination table, please, Stiles," Deaton said, bundling up the paperwork and moving it to the desk.

Stiles unscrewed the lid quickly and poured the monster out, a small pink puddle surrounding it. The monster obviously tried to stand, to grow taller again, but Stiles slammed his hand on top of it firmly, the noise making a few of them jump.

"Was that necessary?" John asked, raising his eyebrow.

"It broke Stiles arm, destroyed his car, and just attacked us again in broad daylight. It was more than necessary," Derek growled.

Lydia moved slightly to stand between John and Derek. Deaton made sure that Stiles still had a hold of the creature before leaving for his Druid books and supplies.

"It attacked you? Are you all right?" Scott asked, looking at them, but obviously waiting for Stiles to reply. "Stiles? C'mon, man, you can't be that pissed off at me that you won't answer a simple question!"

"Can't you see he's trying to concentrate?" Lydia snapped. "If he loses concentration for more than a second, we all die. So sit down, and shut up!"

Scott stepped back in surprise, but clenched his jaw and gave a curt nod. He glared over at Derek. "Why didn't you do anything sooner?"

"What?" Derek asked, frown deepening, but refusing to look away from Stiles.

"You were attacked; why didn't you call for help?"

 _That_ made Derek look away from Stiles, and he glared right back at Scott, his expression reminiscent of his earlier days at Beacon Hills after Laura. "I did. I howled for help."

Scott scoffed. "I didn't hear anything."

Stiles' jaw tightened as the monster tried to slip out from under his palm, the thing almost succeeding because it was so damn slippery. "I'm _concentrating_. Shut up!"

Scott folded his arms across his chest. " _Fine_ , be that way."

He stormed out without another word, and the Sheriff looked between the other three as though he wanted to say something. Before he could, Deaton walked back into the room, his arms full with two large tomes and several containers tucked under his arms.

"Just a minute more, Stiles. Hang in there."

Stiles was visibly sweating now, staring down at his hand and the monster that was still struggling underneath. His mental hold on it was starting to slip, and his physical hold had been slippery from the start. Stiles took a deep breath, eyebrows bunched together as he glared and tried to force the creature to _stay still_ long enough for Deaton to do something useful for once.

Deaton stood beside Stiles what felt like hours later, but was probably only a few minutes at the most. He poured a small handful of granules from each of his containers into a larger clear container, added a drop of something, and then spat into the mix too.

"Gross," Lydia muttered under her breath.

"Put the creature in here, Stiles," Deaton said, ignoring Lydia for the moment.

Stiles picked it up, trying to keep a hold of the creature as it slipped and slid, its own ooze adding to the already slippery mix. It slipped out of his grasp, falling towards the examination table and immediately started to grow. Stiles cursed, grabbed the monster with both hands and dumped it in the container before it could grow any larger.

As soon as the monster hit the mixture, the concoction started to fizz and bubble, a myriad of colours forming as the bubbles grew and expanded. In Stiles' opinion, it looked like a colourful bubblebath was happening in the small container.

Lydia stepped closer, frowning as she sniffed. "Is that ... _Lush_?"

Deaton nodded. "The fizzing properties make it a perfect solution to hold a creature that constantly oozes."

"What's Lush?" John asked hesitantly, looking between them in confusion. "Is it some sort of drug?"

"It might as well be," Lydia muttered under her breath. "It's a company that makes scrubs, soaps, that kind of thing. I recognise the smell."

"You mean all of this could have been avoided with a fucking _bath bomb_?" Stiles asked incredulously.

Derek looked absolutely livid and ready to tear Deaton apart limb by limb. To be honest, Stiles felt the same way, so he couldn't bring himself to calm Derek down when he was just as angry.

"Not avoided; not quite," Deaton said, placing the lid on the container before the bubbles spilled over. "You need to finish off with your spark to make it work. Believe that the creature will stay in this container, never be able to escape, and that will finish the process. It won't die and its family won't come for revenge."

"So, basically, you're trapping the monster in an eternal bubble bath, forever? Alive?" Lydia queried.

"Essentially, yes."

Stiles sighed, trying to dispel his anger, and put his hand on the container. He concentrated, believed, and did as Deaton said. The container would hold the monster, it would never be able to escape, and it wouldn't die so its family would come seeking revenge. As a final task against the monster, with everything else he'd been put through, this whole thing seemed somewhat anticlimactic.

"So, that's it? It's done and it's really trapped?" John asked, looking between the container, Deaton, and Stiles.

"Yes, that's it, and it's really trapped," Deaton replied firmly. "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I'm expecting a client in a few minutes, and I need to clean up," he said, leaving with his containers, tomes, and the final container that held the creature.

"Well, I guess I'd better get back to work as well. I'm relieved that's over, son," John said with a smile.

He went to put his hand on Stiles' shoulder, but realised that Stiles was still covered in ooze and who knew what, and reconsidered. Besides, John still wasn't entirely sure that Stiles had forgiven him enough for that. Awkwardly, he withdrew his hand, and left the clinic quickly. They all listened silently as the Sheriff's car reversed and drove off.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Stiles muttered, grabbing Derek's hand.

"I'll drive you wherever you need to go," Lydia offered, following them out of the vet's clinic.

"Why're you being so nice all of a sudden?" Stiles asked, not looking back as he and Derek started to head out of the parking lot.

"Because **I** heard you both howling. And somehow, even with his Alpha werewolf hearing, Scott didn't hear a thing! So I think we have a few things to discuss, and it will be easier if we do that on the way to wherever you want to go," Lydia called after them. "Besides, my interior's already ruined, so what's another fifteen minutes?"

Stiles slowed to a stop. Beside him, Derek did the same and looked at him, waiting for a decision. Stiles knew that it was up to him, that Derek would back him no matter what choice he made.

"Make it twenty minutes instead; we'll go to the loft," Stiles replied, turning and heading back to Lydia's car, squeezing Derek's hand lightly.

"Say the word, we can jump out of the car," Derek offered quietly, a grin tugging at his lips.

His offer startled a laugh out of Stiles and he shook his head. "I think we'll be all right, but thanks for the offer, sourwolf."

They slid into the back of Lydia's car, and she started the ignition, driving them out towards the loft.

"Why did I hear you, but Scott didn't?" Lydia asked as they started down the road.

"We called for our pack to help; you're pack," Derek replied.

"Is that something you two choose?" Lydia asked, glancing in the rear view mirror at them.

Derek shook his head. "No; it's something that we all choose, not just one or two people. I could say you're pack, but it doesn't make it true unless _you_ think you're pack as well."

"What about your father, Stiles? Isn't he part of your pack?"

"He's not part of anyone's pack, and that's his decision. He wants me to be safe, but he doesn't want to deal with the paranormal components that my life now comes with. I don't blame him for that," he added, shrugging.

"What about the others?" Lydia asked.

"What others?"

"Kira, Isaac, Mr. Argent, Danny... Jackson," she said, looking into the mirror again briefly.

"Kira's in Scott's pack. Isaac and Jackson are too far away to help, even if they did think of themselves as pack. Chris has never been pack, even for all his assistance. It's too hard for my wolf to trust a man that's hunted our kind for his whole life. And Danny's like the Sheriff: he doesn't want to be a part of it," Derek answered.

Lydia made a noise of agreement and fell silent until she turned into the parking lot for Derek's apartment building. "I know you're both planning on leaving. Don't look so surprised, I've been waiting for it since graduation, and I'm honestly surprised you're both still here," she muttered at Stiles' sound. "So... If I'm in your pack, do I have to leave with you?"

"It... it would be preferable; it makes it easier to know that we're all together and safe. But you being pack isn't something that can be cut off by distance or time. If you want to go halfway across the world for five years, you'll still be pack as long as you continue to believe you're pack," Derek said.

"You don't have to leave with us; you still have your freedom to go anywhere you want, Lyds," Stiles added firmly.

Lydia parked the car and sat there for a moment, her whole body trembling as she fought back a sudden onslaught of tears. "Scott... Scott said that pack **has** to stay together. As much as I want to stay here, I just... I _can't_. I've fought too long and hard to achieve my goals, and being a banshee, or being part of a pack, I can't let that take my dreams away. I've had them since I was a child, and I have to see where they take me."

Derek undid his seat belt and moved so that he could rest his hand on Lydia's shoulder. Stiles watched as black lines trekked their way up Derek's arm.

"It's all right, Lyds. You've got dreams to make a reality, and out of everyone I know, you're one of the few that can actually make their dreams come true," Stiles said, grinning at her broadly. "You'll always be pack to me, even if you go find yourself another pack with hotter guys or... y'know, less affinity for trouble."

Lydia laughed. "I don't think that's possible. On either count," she added, smiling.

"C'mon, out of the car. We'll hug this thing out, and you'll feel better; promise."

"You're covered in monster goo, Stiles," Lydia said with a wince.

Stiles ignored her and slid out of the car. The goo was almost dry anyway. Derek and Lydia were out of the car a moment later, and Stiles pulled her into a firm hug.

"You're the best pack mate a guy could ask for, Lyds. Don't ever feel guilty for doing what you need to do, okay?" Stiles said, barely holding back his tears as Lydia cried against his shoulder.

"Okay," Lydia said, pulling away and wiping her eyes. "Quick, before my mascara is completely ruined," she sniffed, tugging Derek in for a hug too.

"You're going to be fine, Lydia. You're the smartest, most capable person I know. Present company included," Derek said with a teasing lilt. Lydia laughed and they both ignored Stiles' huff of indignation. "But, and this is a very big 'but', if you fail, it does _not_ make you any less of a person. You're still smart, you're still capable, and - banshee status aside - you're still human. That means you're not only allowed to make mistakes, you're required to, in order to learn more about yourself and the world around you."

"Geez, you're _both_ trying to destroy my makeup today, aren't you?" Lydia asked with a half-hearted laugh, her voice trembling as she wiped at more tears.

"You want something to drink? I should repay you for that smoothie," Stiles said, grinning.

"No. I'm going to go before anything else happens. If you leave before I get to say goodbye, send me a postcard, okay?"

"We'll say goodbye, Lyds. Promise," Stiles said.

"Good." Lydia hesitated for a moment before standing up on her toes and kissed Derek's cheek. She then did the same to Stiles, and smiled at them both before getting in her car and driving off.

Stiles sighed heavily and leaned against Derek. "My arm's killing me, I need a shower like six hours ago, and because of that damn monster, we're not going to have sex tonight. So, apart from, y'know, being alive, today kinda sucked."

Derek made a brief humming noise in agreement. "We've still got the rest of the night," he said, heading towards the building's entrance. "Besides, there are other things we can do other than sex."

Stiles brightened up at that and hurried after Derek. "We need to discuss those things in a _lot_ of detail. But I need a shower first."

Derek pressed the button for the elevator and held the doors open for Stiles. "I might join you."

Stiles almost tripped over his own feet. Derek caught him before he faceplanted into the elevator wall, and hid his grin as Stiles spluttered at him.

...

Shower make-out sessions were pretty fucking fantastic, Stiles soon discovered. Being pressed up against freezing cold shower tiles? Not so much.

Derek positioned Stiles under the spray to warm him up again, and made sure that every part of Stiles was clean and free of monster goo.

"I'm positive that there's no goo on my ass, Der."

Derek grinned, pressed his chest up along Stiles' back, and grabbed his ass, squeezing firmly. "You sure about that?"

"No. Yes. Which one has you holding my ass?" Stiles asked, reaching back to grab any part of Derek that he could reach.

Derek laughed against his shoulder, kissing the moles scattered along the curve of Stiles' skin. "I thought you'd reconsider. Now, let's keep discussing what you were saying earlier in the car."

Stiles blinked, trying to remember, and then he grinned. "I don't remember a thing. You'll have to remind me."

Pressing more hot open mouthed kisses along Stiles' back, Derek licked a quick strip up his neck. "Think it involved you sucking a certain part of my anatomy."

Stiles turned around and kissed Derek eagerly, wrapping his leg around his waist. "I want to get out of the shower and into the bedroom, now."

"Wherever you'd like," Derek murmured against his mouth, reaching behind Stiles to turn the taps off.

They barely took the time to dry off, Stiles racing to the bedroom still damp, and footprints in his wake. He practically flung himself onto the bed, then hissed in pain as he landed on his arm. _Fuck, he'd forgotten he'd hurt that_.

Derek was on him in a second, concern etched into every feature. "Are you all right?" he asked, leaning over him to try to see what was wrong.

"Damn monster hurt my arm. Forgot about it," Stiles muttered.

"Come here," Derek said, gently manoeuvring Stiles so he could take his wrist and leach his pain.

"No, we were gonna have sex. Come on, Der."

"We've got from tomorrow onwards to have sex, Stiles. One more night of waiting won't kill us," Derek promised with a smile.

"You don't know that. You're taking a great risk with our lives here, sourwolf," Stiles muttered.

Still, he fell silent and let Derek move him around until he was sitting between Derek's legs, resting back against his damp chest. Derek kissed his neck, his shoulder, his cheek, and then took Stiles' arm and continued to leach his pain once more.

Despite all of his eagerness to continue, Stiles fell asleep within minutes. Derek smiled against his shoulder, closed his eyes, and continued to take Stiles' pain away.

...

End of the sixth chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

 _Read on, oh faithful ones..._

...

Chapter Seven

...

Stiles woke up feeling fantastic. He knew that he'd slept awkwardly, considering he was still half-sitting up, but there was no crick in his back, his neck wasn't aching, and Stiles felt as though he could take on another three monsters. Arching and stretching, Stiles yawned widely, and almost smacked Derek in the head. He cursed softly and turned to see Derek looking as worn out and exhausted as Stiles should have felt. Wincing, Stiles moved out of Derek's lap so as not to disturb him further, and carefully moved him so he was lying down properly. Derek stirred a little, barely opening an eye, and then continued to sleep. Wondering just how long Derek had had his whole healing leachy thing going, Stiles tucked a blanket around his shoulders so Derek could sleep it off.

After he'd gone to the bathroom and relieved himself, Stiles realised that his clothes had essentially been destroyed between the monster goo and Derek's claws yesterday afternoon. Stiles immediately decided that he'd need to raid Derek's drawers to find clothes to wear, since Derek had ruined what was left of his shirt and pants. The idea of wearing the werewolf's clothes - big and baggy and pressed up against his body without a stitch between them - made a small shiver run through Stiles, and he grinned as he headed over to the chest of drawers.

"Thumb-hole sweater. C'mon, baby, I _know_ you're in here somewhere," he murmured to himself and to the clothes in general.

The maroon sweater was underneath the next shirt Stiles lifted up, and he danced a little, pulling it out and putting it on straight away. He made sure not to stretch it over his cast, not wanting to ruin the sweater. It was soft and warm and smelled so damn good that Stiles kind of wanted to bury himself in the sweater for the rest of the day. Plus, as an added bonus, the sweater wasn't even a little bit itchy against his bare skin.

"Next, pants. Jeans or sweats?" Stiles mused aloud, opening the next drawer with pants folded and stacked. "Jeans' zipper with my coordination skills and my uncovered dick? Yeah, so not happening," he muttered, grabbing the first pair of sweatpants he saw.

He tugged them on and tied them off, two long loops of string hanging low. Stiles wiggled and bit back a laugh as the string swung along in time with the obvious bulge of his dick. Yeah, all right, he wasn't exactly Mr. Maturity, but hey, he still felt great.

Checking on Derek one more time - he was already starting to look better, the bags under his eyes no longer there, and his skin not quite so pale - Stiles headed downstairs to make breakfast. It was the least he could do for him.

As Stiles was cooking the eggs he'd found in the fridge, some cheese scattered in the mix, he heard the alarm for the elevator going off. Swearing under his breath, Stiles took the pan off the stove, turned the heat off, and hurried towards the door. He stopped short, wondering if maybe the monster had escaped and was somehow using the elevator. The loft door slid open before he could even finish processing that thought, and Stiles relaxed slightly when he saw that it was Scott.

"I didn't know you were here, Stiles. Are you still using that soap from Deaton?" Scott asked in surprise.

"No, I'm not. Why are you here, Scott? It's 7:30am on a Sunday."

Scott faltered at that. "I wanted to talk with Derek. Alone."

"He's sleeping. We had a big day yesterday," Stiles said.

He wanted to say more, that Derek had spent the whole night leaching his pain, but he stopped himself. Stiles didn't want Scott to know that Derek was vulnerable, even if it was only temporary.

"Will you still be here later?" Scott asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, probably. Maybe ring ahead next time you want to come over, or, y'know, have some decency and actually _knock_ first? I know Melissa taught you that one, 'cause you were there when she drilled it in me pretty damn hard when we were seven."

"What's your problem?" Scott demanded.

" **My** problem? Oh boy, we don't have enough hours in the day for what _my_ problem is, so why don't we just skip that back to you, huh, Scotty? Why not share why you're being such a _dick_? Seriously, not even Jackson was this much of a dick, and he pretty much ruined 8th grade for me entirely."

There was a soft noise from elsewhere in the loft that Stiles couldn't identify or focus on properly, not when Scott was standing in front of him, looking like a complete stranger.

"Is this because I didn't hear Derek's howl?" Scott asked suddenly. "I admit it, all right? I didn't hear a single damn howl yesterday. Derek could've howled until he was blue in the face, and I wouldn't have heard a thing! He's not my pack, Stiles! He's never been, and he never will be!"

The noise Stiles had heard grew louder, a rumbling sound that made him think of thunder and torrential downpours, of Mother Nature's impending destruction. Then Scott doubled over in pain, and Stiles realised that the noise was coming from the bedroom upstairs. He looked up to the landing and saw Derek standing at the top of the staircase, his eyes glowing a brighter blue than Stiles had ever seen before. He didn't have time to question what was happening because Derek grabbed the rail and leapt over it, falling down the single storey to land nimbly on his feet. He stalked his way over to where Scott was still doubled over, and grabbed the Alpha by the neck firmly, lifting him off the ground. It was that action that worried Stiles the most because grabbing someone by the neck was a submissive action, one that an Alpha would _never_ let happen just out of pure werewolf shame. The fact that Derek had been able to grab a _True Alpha_ by the neck and just _lift_ without a single ounce of retaliation or resistance made Stiles realise that something even bigger was going on here. Derek retracted his claws from Scott's neck and dropped him to the floor.

"Derek, what just happened?" Stiles asked, just realising that Derek was still naked.

"I removed all ties from the Hales to Scott and anyone in his pack," Derek said, then looked down to the Alpha on the floor. "You are no longer considered pack, nor a brother, and you no longer have sanctuary within Beacon Hills, nor the county itself."

"W-what? What does that mean?" Scott asked, gasping. He wiped his hand over the five wounds in his neck, frowning at the blackened blood and the fact that the wounds from a beta still hadn't healed.

"Hale werewolves, their packs, allies, and those related to them have always had a treaty with the other creatures that reside within Beacon county. They leave us alone, we do the same in turn, as long as they abide by the rules set in the treaty agreement. Now, your tie to the Hale pack through Peter and myself, and even through Cora to some extent, has been completely severed. You are no longer protected by the treaty, so you cannot claim sanctuary anywhere within Beacon county.

"I imagine that there are quite a few creatures in the county that would love to get their hands on a True Alpha, especially one that has caused the deaths of so many in the last four years alone. I'm sure you'll find out firsthand on the next full moon," Derek said with a smile that was not at all friendly.

"All this because I didn't hear you howl? Because I said you're not pack?" Scott asked incredulously, wiping away the last of the black blood as his wounds finally healed.

Stiles shook his head. "No, Scott, it's not that. Well, not _just_ that. If you truly didn't hear Derek, then that means we're not pack in any way, shape or form. If you did hear him, but didn't bother to answer or help, then it doesn't matter anyway because you're always meant to help your pack. I used to love you like a brother, but this is the last betrayal I'll accept."

"Betrayal? What betrayal?!" Scott asked, indignant as he stood up, hands clawed at his sides.

"You left with Gerard, and then you left with Deucalion, even after I _**begged**_ you not to. You never take responsibility for your own actions or decisions - it's _always_ someone else's fault. You don't listen when other people say something that actually makes sense, because it doesn't fit in with what you think or think you know. The way you used Derek to hurt Gerard without Derek's permission, you abused him. And you pushed my dad away from me. He's the only family I have, and you told him to stay away from me!"

"It was for his own good! It was to keep him - you, both of you! - safe!"

"No, Scott, it wasn't. It was for _your_ own good. You don't think I _know_ how many nights he spent at your house instead of at home with me? Every time he was meant to be working late, he was spending at your home instead. You liked that, getting a father figure with just a few words, didn't you? And as for the rest of it... You might have saved the town along the way, but you've only ever done it with yourself and your own benefits in mind. You wouldn't have saved me or Derek that night we were drowning in the pool because you were at Allison's; the only reason you came to the school was for yourself, not us!"

Scott's nose flared, and he still looked stubborn and indignant. "What did you do to him, Derek? Did you brainwash Stiles into believing all of this, this _crap_?!"

"Crap? Scott, you said yourself that you didn't hear a thing yesterday! I believe you, 110%. But the thing is, Derek wasn't the only one that howled for help out there yesterday. So if you didn't hear a howl, that means you didn't hear _**me**_ **.** And if you did hear it, but just chose to ignore me, then that means I can't trust you anymore. I can't trust you to have my back, or to come when I call for help. And y'know what? I'm thinking that maybe I never could."

Scott's eyes were wide and he stared between the two of them. "You... He _did_ something to you, Stiles. Made you believe all of this. You need to come home with me; you're my brother."

"Did you hear a single word I just said?!" Stiles asked incredulously.

"Stiles - "

"No! Don't you 'Stiles' me, Scott! As always, you're just hearing what you want to hear, what fits in your little world. The world is so much bigger than your narrow view, Scott, and you need to realise that sooner rather than later."

"You don't know what you're saying, Stiles! You're _not_ a wolf, you can't even howl!"

Stiles breathed in deep, closed his eyes, and reached for his darkness and his spark, wrapping them around himself like a cloak. Then he opened his eyes, glowing white, he tipped his head back and _howled_. Derek didn't even hesitate, howling along with him, and he knew that wherever Lydia was, she was screaming along with them. Even in London and Paris, as far away as they were, and probably asleep to boot, Jackson and Isaac howled too.

"Believe me, I can howl. Now. _Get out_ ," Stiles repeated, using his power to push Scott out of the loft door.

It slid closed behind Scott soundlessly, and Stiles knew that it wouldn't open for Scott ever again.

Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist, pressing a kiss to the curve of his neck and shoulder.

"You're still naked, sourwolf."

"You're wearing my clothes."

"I seem to remember you destroying mine last night," Stiles replied, grinning. "These smell like you the most."

Derek hummed in agreement, moving in close and pressing himself up against Stiles' body. "They smell like us now."

"Do you want food first? Omelettes are - "

"Re-heatable," Derek finished, capturing Stiles' mouth with his own.

Derek was absolutely right.

...

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you. How's your arm?" the Sheriff asked, nodding to Stiles' now cast-free arm.

"Hairy," Stiles muttered, frowning at the dark hairs on his arm. "But definitely better. Derek's made sure it'd heal, even after everything with that monster."

"I'm glad he's taking care of you, son."

"Yeah, so am I," Stiles said with a quick grin, looking over to where Derek was getting their drinks and pretending not to be listening to their conversation.

"When are you planning on leaving?" the Sheriff asked, getting Stiles' attention again.

"After lunch?" he replied, a little confused at the question.

"I meant Beacon Hills," he replied, eyebrow raising at Stiles' flustered expression. "I'm not stupid, son, and I'm the Sheriff for a reason. Besides, Lydia called."

Derek returned with their drinks, setting the bottles down in front of each table setting. "We'll say goodbye before we leave," he promised.

The Sheriff looked between Stiles and Derek for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you. Both of you look after each other, all right? That's all I ask."

Derek and Stiles looked to each other, fingers threading together under the table.

"We will," Stiles promised, Derek nodding firmly beside him.

...

"Mmm, you could bounce a fistful of coins off that ass," Lydia hummed, watching as Derek personally cleaned the interior of her car, bent over the backseat in a pair of tight jeans.

" _Lydia!_ " Stiles hissed, cheeks red.

"What? One pack member can't appreciate another pack member's ass?"

"Not when he can hear you," Stiles groaned.

"Derek would hear me across town, Stiles, and I am so _not_ ashamed. Consider it payback for waking me with your howl yesterday morning. I was still sleeping off the day before," Lydia muttered.

"Scott was..."

"Being Scott, I know, you told me. And then Scott told me, and then, for some weird reason, Jackson rang me yesterday afternoon and told me as well."

"He rang us first to ask what the hell was going on," Stiles said.

"Figured as much. Did anyone else hear?"

"Had an email from Isaac some time last night. I was somewhat busy at the time and didn't answer until this morning. They seem to be doing well."

"Yeah, they do. Jackson's thinking about coming back and going to New York for college," Lydia mused.

"Where are you planning on accepting?" Stiles asked, knowing that any college in the country would be begging for Lydia to attend.

"Princeton. Their affiliates have had the highest number of Fields Medal awards since it began in 1936," Lydia replied, the statistic rolling off her tongue easily. "What about you two?"

"Haven't decided yet," Stiles said, shrugging.

"Car's clean, Lydia. Not a speck of goo, smoothie, or any other substance remains," Derek called, pulling his suds-soaked shirt off.

Both Stiles and Lydia stared. Stiles grinned a little goofily at the sight; Lydia was right: there was no shame in watching Derek at all. Especially when Derek had heard their conversation and was obviously teasing them for their comments.

"If you're both done ogling, I'd like to go home now, get out of these wet clothes," Derek said pointedly, a grin on his lips at their identical small gasps.

Stiles would have protested, to spend some more time with Lydia while they still could, but she licked her lips and pushed Stiles off the porch and towards Derek.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she called after them.

Stiles blushed and buried his head against Derek's damp, warm chest. "Are you _sure_ she's pack?"

Derek's laugh reverberated in his chest, the hairs tickling against Stiles' nose. "I'm sure, Stiles. Let's get home. I've got a present waiting for you."

That intrigued Stiles, and he spent the next ten minutes trying to think of what Derek could have possibly bought for him. When they arrived at the loft, Stiles still had no idea what the present could be, and eventually decided to stop over-thinking it, and just let it happen.

...

"I'll be right out," Derek said, heading to the bathroom.

"Can I join you?" Stiles asked eagerly, half a step behind him.

Derek turned and kissed Stiles. "If you'd like."

Stiles blinked slowly, licking his lips. "You... You know how in _The Princess Bride_ , Westley would always say 'as you wish' but he really meant 'I love you', is that... Do you mean that too, when you say 'if you like?' 'Cause you say it a lot."

"It could mean that, if you'd like," Derek replied.

Stiles grinned and nodded, pulling him in close to kiss again. "I'd really, really like."

Derek smiled against his lips, and they made their way to the shower, a trail of clothes left in their wake. Stiles didn't get a chance to say or do anything as they pulled away from their kiss, and then Derek was on his knees with his head buried between Stiles' legs. Stiles leant back against the tiles, never mind the cold, and fisted his hand in Derek's hair to hold him close. He was still young and inexperienced, and didn't have enough control to stop himself from cumming hard down Derek's throat. Derek grabbed at Stiles' ass to hold him close and swallow him down, and Stiles was like a billion percent positive that there was _nothing in the whole entire world_ that had ever been so hot. Fuck, a volcanic explosion was a cold bath compared to Derek.

"You're talking about volcanos while I've got your cock in my mouth," Derek said once he'd pulled away, raising his eyebrow at Stiles slightly.

"Yeah, great, isn't it?" Stiles murmured breathlessly.

Derek shook his head and stood up slowly, kissing his way up Stiles' body as he did so. Stiles was a trembling mess by the time Derek reached Stiles' mouth, and he clung on to Derek's shoulder with all of the tenacity of a man drowning at sea.

"Do you want your present now?" Derek asked, grinning.

"Y'mean that wasn't it?"

Derek laughed and shook his head. "Not even close. Go on, get dressed and wait on the bed for me."

"But you're still hard," Stiles said breathlessly, only just realising that Derek hadn't orgasmed as well.

"I'll survive. I want to give you your present more," Derek said, pressing one more firm kiss to his lips before physically lifting Stiles and placing him outside of the shower. "Go on, I'll be right there."

Stiles still felt a little overwhelmed by his orgasm, but focused enough to dry himself off and pull on Derek's thumb-hole sweater and grey sweatpants. Stiles considered them to be his now, and he knew that Derek didn't mind. He waited patiently, legs crossed under him as Stiles tried to settle his erratic heartbeat and pulse. Counting usually helped calm him, so he started now.

He was up to 93 when Derek finally emerged from the bathroom. Stiles watched as Derek headed to the chest of drawers, removed a secret panel at the back of one of the drawers, and pulled out a wrapped gift. Stiles had to take a moment to get over the whole secret panel thing, and then he focused on the flat present that Derek had set down in front of him.

"Well, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that lil' Timmy's not getting a basketball for Christmas?" Stiles said with a grin.

"Do you want me to take it back?"

"No! Mine, no taking," Stiles said quickly, holding the present close.

"Then open it already."

Stiles nodded and tore at the wrapping paper quickly. The gift was two books. He turned the first one upside down so it was the right way around and read the title.

"Road atlas 2016, and ... a blank notebook?"

"I thought we could go wherever you liked, and you could write down what you thought of the places. Sort of your own travel guide to the US," Derek said, blushing a little.

"That sounds pretty awesome, actually," Stiles said, leaning over to kiss Derek firmly. "Thank you; I can't wait, Der."

"When we get the Camaro back, we can leave whenever you like, and come back whenever, too."

"When-never, more like," Stiles muttered, flipping through the atlas and squinting at some of the towns. "Oh, I know what I can write!" he said excitedly, sitting back and opening the notebook to a page. " _Dear diary, don't come to this town again, there are vampires. Otherwise, the local Italian restaurant has a fantastic_ aglio e olio _._ "

Derek laughed and shook his head at the same time. "Vampires aren't real, Stiles."

"Good. Now, when do we get the Camaro back?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

"We'll leave Wednesday morning then?" Stiles asked eagerly.

Derek smiled. "If you'd like."

...

The Sheriff and Lydia both received postcards a month later.

The Sheriff's was simple, talking about food and the scenery on their road trip. The cheesy postcard cover was of an animated garlic bulb, and it made him smile, knowing it would be the first of many postcards of his son's travels across the country.

Lydia's postcard was far more detailed, Stiles telling her to _never_ go to Gilroy because Derek was wrong and vampires absolutely did exist. She wondered if it was worth being in Stiles and Derek's pack if this sort of thing was going to continue, but Lydia still smiled at the sight of the town's postcard with a big black cross drawn over it, and she didn't want to change a thing about her small pack.

 _Well_ , Lydia thought to herself, _she might be convinced to make a small change when Jackson finally returned from London, and Isaac with him_.

...

Stiles grinned over at Derek. "Any other creatures you're positive aren't real, sourwolf?"

"How was I to know that vampires were real? Their nest hasn't strayed out of Gilroy for the last 300 years!"

"That probably explains why what's her name with the pointy teeth was so ugly."

"I think that's just how vampires look, Stiles."

Stiles hummed placatingly, taking his blank notebook from the glove compartment. "Now, how was I meant to start this entry?"

"I think the words 'dear diary' were in there somewhere," Derek snarked.

Stiles laughed and squeezed Derek's hand over the gear shift briefly, grinning when he felt his anchor's amusement through their link. "You still love me."

"As long as you'd like. Now, where to next?" he asked, glancing at the road atlas sitting on Stiles' lap.

Stiles closed his eyes, reached for his spark and shadow, and then flipped through the book, opening to a page that felt right. "Here looks good."

"Everywhere looks good to you."

"That's 'cause you're with me, Der-bear," Stiles said, fluttering his eyelashes.

Derek rolled his eyes and turned the radio on, but Stiles could see that he was hiding a smile. He smiled back at him, and then looked back to the map to work out how to get to their next destination.

With his spark and shadow finally under his control, and his anchor sitting right there beside him, Stiles didn't care where they ended up, just as long as he and Derek arrived at their destination together.

...

The end.

Thanks for reading!

 **Author's note:** the sequel to this story (Postcards) will be uploaded shortly.


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